


Worst Steak Ever

by Imaginos_Buzzardo_Desdinova



Category: Black Butler, Imaginos - Fandom, Ranma 1/2
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25745878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaginos_Buzzardo_Desdinova/pseuds/Imaginos_Buzzardo_Desdinova
Summary: This was written in answer to a prompt challenge from the Fan Ramen podcast. The prompt was to do a crossover where Gordon Ramsay declares a character's food as the worst steak he had ever eaten. I took it a step further.
Kudos: 4





	Worst Steak Ever

Worst Steak Ever: The Gordon Ramsay Mega-Crossover

(a multi-scene one-shot)

Gordon vs Sebastian Michaelis (or How the Whole Mess Began)

The kitchen was hotter than hell, and that was exactly how Sebastian Michaelis liked it best.

He’d invited himself to the Lucky Cat, having heard of the restaurant’s chef of some repute and wanting to see for himself if the man was all he was made out to be.

“How long have you been a cook,” asked the blond man, who seemed to have an attitude that would’ve fit right in with the folks at home. And I don’t mean the Phantomhive Manor.

“I’ve been plying my craft for a very long time,” Sebastian told him.

“Well,” the man told him. “I’m Gordon Ramsay and I’m looking for a new steak chef. I’d like to see just how good you are.”

Sebastian turned on the stove with his usual flourish and began to season the steak.

“Oh, come on!” Gordon complained. “This is a kitchen, not a circus act! If you’re going to act that way, maybe you should consider joining one.“

“I did that once,” Sebastian told him as he placed the steak on the grill and began to prepare a light sauce for it.

As he flipped the steak at the proper time, he could feel Gordon’s eyes on him. Amused, he gave the man a sinister smirk which Gordon matched without trying.

~I wonder…~ Sebastian thought to himself. Then he decided. ~No. Nobody in Hell has as painfully egotistical of an attitude as this man.~

After Sebastian had taken the steak off the grill and handed it to Gordon, the man took one bite.

“Worst steak ever,” he complained.

That, of course, is what started the whole mess…

Gordon Vs Imaginos

Gordon wasn’t sure how the well-dressed steak killer had managed to send him to wherever he was. But he was certain, based on the lack of service on his cell phone, and the fact that all the street lamps had candles instead of bulbs, that he had traveled farther than just a few miles.

A hawk flew overhead. It was carrying something in its mouth and Gordon soon realized that it was the bird’s meal.

He decided that if he was going to get anywhere in this place, he would need money. And for that, he would need work.

Confident in his own abilities as well as his reputation, he found a restaurant and knocked on the door.

“Good afternoon,” said a young man who answered the door. “May I help you?”

Gordon stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Surely this place was not so backwards that they didn’t know who he was.

“I’m Gordon Ramsay,” he told the man.

“I’m Steven McNeill,” the man replied. “Now, how can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a job,” Gordon said.

“I see,” Steven said. “Well, I’m not the owner, so I can’t help you. But I’ll see if he’s around. Sometimes he takes off and goes hunting. We’ve got the freshest meat around thanks to his unique skills and abilities.”

~So,~ Gordon thought to himself, ~this is a restaurant where only the freshest food is served. I’m surprised I’ve never heard of it.~  
The sound of a large bird’s wings flapping could be heard in the kitchen followed by another sound, like that of the wet slap of a large piece of meat being placed on a carving board.

“Surely not!” Gordon said, rushing into the kitchen. He was determined to see what he expected to be a recently slaughtered bird laying on the counter which would of course be soaked with its blood and therefore contaminated. He would definitely be reporting this to the local health department.

What he saw instead, was a man in his late forties who was carefully carving away the excess bone and gristle from a clean but clearly fresh piece of meat.

“Did I just hear a bird come in here?” he demanded.

“Buzzardo,” the man shrugged, pointing at the staff changing room. “Don’t bother,” he added as Gordon made for the door to confront the bird. “He’s probably changed back by now. He’s our best hunter, for obvious reasons.”

A man in his late twenties emerged from the changing room and looked over Gordon very carefully. “Who’s this, Jeffers?”

“I have no idea,” Jeffers replied. “Just barged in.”

“Gordon Ramsay,” Gordon said, sounding put out. “And you are?”

“Jeffers Connelly,” the owner said. “And my best part time cook, Imaginos.”

“Italian?” Gordon asked.

Imaginos shook his head. “Avian,” he explained.

“That means bird, you moron,” Gordon said in an exasperated tone.

Imaginos narrowed his eyes. “I know what it means,” he said, darkly. “You dress funny. And what is that bracelet on your wrist?”

“It’s a watch,” Gordon said. “You do know what a watch is, I assume?”

“Of course I do,” Imaginos said, drawing his watch from his pocket. “I’ve just never seen one worn in that fashion before.”

Gordon looked carefully at Imaginos’ watch. Now he was positive that he was a lot further than he had originally thought.

“So, what do you do?” Imaginos asked.

“I’m a chef, birdbrain,” Gordon replied. “And don’t tell me you’ve never heard of me.”

“I’ve been a seafarer most of my life. I’ve been in ports from here to the shores of the 42 States. And I’ve never heard of any chefs named Gordon Ramsley.”

“Ramsay, you nitwit,” Gordon said, angrily.

“Nope. Never heard of Ramshead either,” Imaginos told him.

Gordon wondered if he were doing it on purpose.

“What do you cook?” Imaginos asked him.

“Steak,” Gordon said.

“Just beef steak, or do you do swordfish steak as well?” Imaginos asked him.

“Any steak,” Gordon replied. “As well as many other fine dishes.”

Something seemed to cross his mind.

“Who is Bizzaro?”

“Buzzardo,” Imaginos corrected him. “That would be me. But not as you see me now.”

Without hesitation, since the restaurant staff were used to it by now, he transformed into a hawk and rested on a nearby windowsill.

“Oh, that is so unsanitary!” Gordon shouted at him.

Buzzardo glared at him as if to say “I am not a dirty bird! I was my feathers, talons, and beak all the time. And I earn my keep in this form by hunting for the food our patrons eat.”  
“I’m going to report this place to the health inspector.” Gordon said, pulling his cell phone out and starting to dial before remembering there was no service here and putting it back in his pocket.

Jeffers finished making the steak and brought it out to a table, gesturing to Gordon to try it.

“You expect me to eat that awful steak knowing that some bird was pecking at it.”

Buzzardo made an offended gesture and transformed back into Imaginos.

“I don’t eat cooked meat as Buzzardo,” he pointed out. “And most of the meat in this town is carried back to the hunters by bird or dog. So get used to it.”

“He’s right,” said a familiar voice from the exterior doorway. “So have you learned your lesson, or do you still say my steak is the worst ever?”

“If I were to try this steak, I might still find it better than yours,” Gordon told the Phantomhive Butler.

Sebastian turned to Imaginos. “Sebastian Michaelis,” he introduced himself. “Butler to the Phantomhive Manor.”

“Imaginos,” Imaginos replied. “Seafarer and part time cook when I need to be in port for an extended time.”

“And part time hawk, if my senses are correct,” Sebastian said.

“That is true,” Imaginos said. “So, why did you send that Gordon fellow here?”

“Hello,” Gordon said in annoyance. “Still here.”

“He told me I made a dreadful steak,” Sebastian said. “Well, since I am one Hell of a Butler, that simply can’t be true.”

“Hell,” Gordon muttered. “Exactly what the damned steak tasted like.”

“The young master thinks my steaks are perfect,” Sebastian told Imaginos. “I use the finest meats and the finest herbs.”

“The young master,” Gordon said the worst with dripping sarcasm, “probably likes hotdogs and has no real taste for good meat.”

“If Jeffers doesn’t mind, perhaps you and I could have a contest and see which of our steaks is better?” Imaginos suggested. “It would give each of us a chance to sample each other’s cooking. And Gordy here...”

“It’s Gordon, you twit,” Gordon Ramsay complained.

“... can be the judge. Even two supposedly bad steaks have to have one that’s more passable than the other.” Sebastian finished. “A most brilliant idea, my avian friend.”

“I have no intention of eating demon steak for the second time,” Gordon told them. “Nor do I intend to eat steak of any kind from a bird-contaminated kitchen. So, if you don’t mind, I believe I shall depart.”

“Very well,” Sebastian said. “However, you may find your next stop even more unpleasant than this one.”

Gordon glared at him, walked out of the restaurant…

Gordon Vs Akane Tendo

...and right into a kick to the gut.

“Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry,” the young Japanese teenager apologized profusely as she made a short bow.

“Just be glad she only got you in the stomach with foot,” remarked a young boy who was probably the same age as the girl who had accidentally kicked him. “It never would’ve survived her cooking.”

Gordon was amazed at the girl’s strength as she lifted a nearby table and clobbered the boy over the head with it.

“Well, I’m certain it cannot be nearly as bad as what I’ve had to put up with at the last two places I’ve been.”

He looked around at the style of the room he was in, recognizing it from his travels as a Japanese dojo.

Surely, he couldn’t be in Japan!

“Where am I?” he inquired.

The boy smiled at the girl. “He must be related to Ryoga. Though I didn’t know he had any British relatives. Probably shouldn’t be too surprised, though. His family must’ve crossed into several countries trying to get to the grocery store.”

Akane decided to ignore this jibe at her friend and instead answered Gordon.

“Well, sir, this is Nerima, Japan,” she told him politely. “My name is Akane Tendo and this is my reluctant fiance, Ranma Saotome.”

“It was our parents’ idea,” Ranma said.

“It’s really annoying to think that our fathers planned the whole thing without even asking,” Akane put in.

“That’s all very interesting,” Gordon said. “But I’m looking for someplace where I can find a decent steak.”

“Well, that’s hard to come by in many Japanese homes because it tends to be so expensive,” Ranma pointed out. “But I can recommend a couple alternatives you might enjoy. Shampoo and her grandmother run a very nice ramen shop called the Cat Cafe, and Ukyo makes a very good okonomiyaki.”

“And what of you, young lady,” Gordon asked Akane. “What can you make.”

“She’s a miraculous cook,” Ranma told him. “She once even made water catch on fire.”

This time Akane gave Ranma a kick that launched him clear into orbit.

“Would you care to join us for dinner?” Akane asked.  
“I doubt your cooking could be as bad as all that,” Gordon replied. “I’d love to. Just to see what you come up with.”

Akane smiled and led him back to the house, eliciting looks of interest from her sisters, Nabiki and Kasumi.

“Who’s that?” Nabiki asked, taking a photo for posterity.

“I don’t know,” Kasumi said. “A guest, I suppose.”

“Everyone,” Akane introduced, “this is Mr. Ramsay. He’s interested in trying my cooking.”

“Oh my,” Nabiki said, coolly.

“We can make dinner together,” Kasumi offered. “It’ll take less time if we work as a team.”

“I promised I’d make the main dish,” Akane told them.

“A boy named Ranma told him she wasn’t a very good cook.”

“I assume he should be deorbiting right about now,” Nabiki said just as Ranma crash-landed in the koi pond. “Right on schedule.”

Gordon looked at the source of the splash, only to see a red haired sixteen year old girl climbing out of the little pond.

“That’s not him,” he pointed out.

“Oh, I guess you haven’t heard about Ranma’s little problem.” Nabiki said, going over to the girl with a pot of hot water and pouring it on her.

Gordon’s eyes widened as she changed back into the dark-haired boy he had met earlier in the dojo.

“It happened during a trip to China,” Ranma said, leaving it at that. He didn’t feel like explaining again.

A girl on a bicycle came to a halt near the porch and approached. Fate must’ve been in a mood to torment poor Ranma, however, because the girl had barely got off the bike when the clouds opened up and a cold rain began to fall.  
“Shampoo,” Kasumi offered. “Maybe you’d better come…”

Shampoo was a cat two seconds later.

Gordon watched as the self-confident and arrogant teenager suddenly began to tremble and back away from the adorable little cat.

“Ailurophobe?” he asked Nabiki.

“You don’t know half of it,” Nabiki said.

With all that was going on, Gordon wondered if the simple little restaurant with the bird wasn’t so bad after all. And why did that Sebastian fellow keep sending him to places where people turned into animals and other people?

As he finally tasted Akane’s cooking, he glared at her.

“You need a lot of practice,” he told her. “The tea was atrocious. How does a girl from Japan mess up tea so badly? I thought it was supposed to be ceremonial, but you’ve turned it into a torture session. And the meat wouldn’t even have passed as jerky.”

He got up and went outside where Shampoo, still in cat form, was cleaning her paws on the porch.

“Okay, Mr. Michaelis, you’ve made your point,” he said to the rain. “I guess your steak isn’t the worst after all.”

Sebastian appeared beside him and would’ve taken him back home sooner…

...if there hadn’t been a cat there.


End file.
